Last night, I attended one of the most meaningful parts of Holy Week: the Tenebrae Good Friday service (Latin for “shadows” or “darkness”). Various readers recount scripture passages related to the suffering of Jesus—from the Garden of Gethsemane to when Pilot orders the guard to protect the tomb. After readers complete their scripture reading, they extinguish a candle and the sanctuary turns increasingly dark.
It’s a powerful, contemplative service. It’s quiet, slow, and sorrowful. We all find ourselves in the darkness in the end.
This year, I participated as a reader, and my assigned portion involved the very end of the service. My job involved turning out the podium light and snuffing out the final candle. In theory, I’d stand at the front of the church in total darkness, and I would then sneak away down the steps to return to my seat as we all contemplated in dark silence.
The worship leader warned me beforehand: I would need to figure out to navigate the steps in total darkness. I smiled and laughed weakly. I already have bad knees. I already don’t see well at night! A young man from the youth group, a fellow reader, joked that he would catch me when I fell. I could picture myself tumbling down the steps, splayed out and wounded.
When the moment came, I realized the power of it all. It happened like I feared: I couldn’t see my way. I couldn’t find my path. Thankfully, I made it clumsily to my seat without falling, but the whole time, I kept thinking to myself how impossible it is to navigate the darkness. We’re all just flailing about, doing our best, without the light. Each step to my seat felt dangerous and uncertain.
I finally took my seat in the darkness, exhaled that I didn’t ruin the service, and thanked Jesus that He is the Light. He illuminates the darkness and shows us our path. Without Him, we’re hopelessly stumbling toward what we think is home. Worse, we carry tormenting burdens of sin which terrible effects we cannot truly fathom. We don’t even know what freedom feels like because we’ve been enslaved to sin so long. I look up at the cross and the crown of thorns there. We’re saved! We’re rescued! He paid for our sin, and He swallows up all this darkness. Soon, we’ll bask in the light of Easter Sunday.
We’ll make it home.